


Voice

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Size Kink, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave moves through the Nemesis unseen and unheard, observing and recording. And sensing, his telepathic abilities constantly picking up snatches of thought, emotion, memory, and desire. But very few know what he wants -- and Megatron, preoccupied with Starscream, has never quite noticed that Soundwave wants him. So Soundwave decides to make it blatantly, obscenely obvious, and see if Megatron will take what is offered to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice

Soundwave lay sprawled on his console, his tentacles knotted around himself.  Segmented coils of metal twisted over his slender arms. Two more wrapped around his legs, pulling them apart. Their biolights blinked, flaring with energy as they caught and held him fast.

He shivered at the unfamiliar feeling of his own tentacles twining around his limbs. An uneasy jolt skittered through his sensor net, warnings pinging in his processor: _Supplemental limbs entangled. Primary limb mobility compromised._

_Disentangle immediately._

If he had possessed mouthplates, he might have smirked at himself. He had no way of informing his base programming that he’d done it all intentionally.

But his base programming wasn’t the one he was trying to impress.

Resolutely ignoring the instincts urging him to loosen his grip on his own limbs, he tightened them instead, pulling his legs open wider. The stretch burned, stinging the sensors in his hip joints. He canted his hips in response, knowing the gesture would offer a better view of his interface equipment, already open and exposed, the covers of his spike and valve alike shifted aside.

The slender spike lay fully extended and painfully pressurized against his plating. Biolights winked from its surface, glowing with anticipation. Beads of fluid shone at its tip.

But his valve was the real prize, dark and open, a fresh gush of quicksilver lubricant running out over its rim and onto his slender thighs. Though Soundwave’s frame was small and lithe, his valve yawned open wide, a dark and hungry circle that stretched nearly to his hip joints.

He’d had it modified. One did not court massive mechs without preparation.

And Soundwave didn’t need telepathy to know that Megatron’s spike was massive.

For one thing, the warlord’s frame itself was enormous, towering over anyone else on the ship. He’d been built for heavy labor, designed to slave away in energon mines, neither seeing nor needing the light of the stars. And he’d left the mines for the gladiatorial arena of Kaon and had himself remade, the thick plating fashioned into curving armor that very few weapons could pierce. His limbs were broad, his barbed shoulders vast.

His optics blazed, bright embers that made Soundwave glad for his mask, the featureless visor devoid of expression.

It would not do to stare.

But even without what his reason told him, Soundwave’s telepathy had already shown him exactly what Megatron’s spike looked like, unpainted and thick, built up of curving plates like the rest of him, their sharpness just barely smoothed away. He’d caught glimpses, pilfered from someone else’s mind, of the biolights winking from between the plates of metal, bright as the ones that gleamed on Soundwave’s tentacles now.

The thought of the mind he’d stolen those impressions from sent a hot coil of jealousy curling through his spark. The readout on his visor flickered with sudden, bright anger.

He knew Megatron had chosen Starscream. He knew enough of Megatron’s mind to know why. He could almost hear it now, echoing faintly through the warlord’s mind even as he stared down at Soundwave, the memory a bright thread running through his arousal.

Wild, shrieking gasps of pain and desire all at once. Megatron was massive; Starscream was small.

And far too greedy for sensation to bother with a valve modification.

But Soundwave wanted Megatron’s attention on him. Even these little snatches of memory galled him. He twisted his tentacles around himself again, their movements sinuous and graceful as anything else he did. His biolights flickered again, hot with the renewed sensation.

He did not need telepathy to know that Megatron had noticed his display. The silent room filled with a low, rolling hum, the purr of a powerful engine.

"Well then," his watcher said, the voice rich with amusement and laced with static. Starscream still lurked at the corners of his mind, an unwelcome ghost, but Soundwave could sense his desire building as he stared down at the widened valve.

“I must admit I understood that you were loyal,” Megatron continued, “but I hadn’t expected this.”

For you, he wanted to say. But he hadn’t spoken in millenia. To a mech constantly bombarded with scraps of emotion, sensory impressions, and a fleeting half-formed mist of thoughts, silence was precious.

He would not break that vow. Not for this. Not for one simple, hungry grab for his master’s attentions.

As dramatic as this gesture was, it was a beginning. Not a consummation.

Not yet.

And Megatron could see the wide valve laid dark and open before him. He would not need Soundwave to tell him why it was there. Nor did he need Soundwave to explain why he’d woven his tentacles around himself, his frame bound by his own appendages and offered up like any other gift.

The warning came again, echoing through his processor as his tentacles tightened again.

 _Disengage immediately._  

When he was done willing away the distraction, he heard the sound he’d been waiting for: the soft click of Megatron’s spike cover sliding aside.

He did not stare as it sprang free. He had already decided that such forwardness would only be rude. But he knew that Megatron had taken himself in hand already, watching and waiting. He could feel the sensation, pulled from Megatron’s own mind, of the warlord’s own fingers curled around himself.

His masked face bore no expression; it could not change. Still, he turned his head, compelled by some small modesty.

But Megatron would have none of it. Soundwave felt the clawed fingers of his lord’s free hand curl around his pointed chin, drawing his head back up to face him.

“Look at yourself, Soundwave,” he murmured, despite that given the way Megatron was holding him, he could do nothing but stare up into Megatron’s face, watching the burnished red embers of his optics watching him. “Such a display, so elaborately prepared.

“And that.” Scarred lip plates curled into a grin as Megatron glanced down at Soundwave’s open, dripping valve.

“How long have you wanted this?” Megatron mused, looking him over. “For all these long years of war, you have served me in silence, watching and waiting. You’ve been my shadow from the beginning? Did you want this even then?”

Soundwave gave a choked ventilation. He hadn’t spoken in an age; he’d always found someone else’s words to express what he was thinking. But he was not sure that even his own words could answer this.

His visor flickered dutifully. If Megatron really wanted to know, Soundwave could show him how many long nights he had spent watching and waiting.

He’d never intended to make such recordings. Megatron’s life was his own, his privacy paramount. Soundwave had no reason to spy on him.

And yet overhearing Starscream was sometimes impossible to avoid.

Especially when Soundwave lurked just beyond the door of Megatron’s quarters, sensing and listening, unable to resist the temptation of bathing in Megatron’s desire, the sweet agony of feeling it wash over him, even when he knew it had someone else as its target.

“No, don’t.” Rich laughter silenced him again, just as the hated, familiar voice began to play. Soundwave hurriedly killed the recording. “It doesn’t matter to me what you know. Only what you want. And I can see that easily enough.”

He felt the claws tighten around his chin, gripping hard enough to hurt. Their sharpened tips dug into his plating, scratching the dusky paint.

He could sense the thoughts and impressions twisting through Megatron’s processor in a tantalizing mist. Curiosity, intrigue, amusement — and a thread of lust he never sensed this strongly unless Megatron was thinking of Starscream.

But Megatron made no further move. He neither moved the hand curled around his spike — a maddening rejection, yes, but at least an obvious response — nor drew closer to press it to the entrance of Soundwave’s expanded valve.

Soundwave’s fans stuttered, then kicked on all too loudly. They were soft under the roar of Megatron’s own, yes, but —

Watching and waiting.

Soundwave could do that as well as anyone else.

Soundwave had been built for that.

That thought calmed him, tension draining from his frame. He kept his tentacles curled around himself, of course, but he allowed even their biting grip to ease. His visor flickered lazily as Megatron held it, relaxing into his master’s grip.

Megatron’s smile widened, revealing his fangs. They glittered, sharp and eager, and Soundwave caught a trill of impatience, racing like angry electricity through Megatron’s mind.

Good.

“Come now,” Megatron said at last, his voice coaxing. “We both know what you want. So tell me.”

Soundwave’s spark pulsed in panic. Was it his voice Megatron wanted? Was that what this was about?

He would gladly offer it, but not yet, not here, not now, not with Starscream still lurking in the corners of Megatron’s mind.

Then, all at once, Soundwave’s spark flared with revelation. Had he possessed a mouth, his smirk would have matched Megatron’s own.

He would not need his own words. Not now. Not when he already had them, tucked away deep within his processor.

Not when the very words that had cut him so deeply could now reveal the depth of his desire.

Starscream had stolen the one he wanted. Perhaps forever. But Soundwave, in his turn, could steal Starscream’s voice.

It took him only a moment to search through the recordings. He had more than he cared to admit, and they were all the same: painfully high shrieks of pleasure, mewling whines of need, vulgar begging laced with static. 

Patient and methodical as ever, he hunted for the crudest recording he could find, the most blatant, obscene invitation he had ever overheard his rival speak.

His visor flared brightly once, taking the last of his inhibitions with it.

He tilted his hips again, pressing them as far upward as his own tentacles would let him move, and played back the recording. 


End file.
